


The Art of Losing

by paragraph (ebcdic)



Category: Die Hard (Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Light Angst, Light BDSM, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 10:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10762317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebcdic/pseuds/paragraph
Summary: Pining, fuck. Isn't he way past that shit by now?





	The Art of Losing

Between being ordered to stay in the hospital a lot longer than he thought was necessary and having to fill out reams of paperwork the Feds shoved in his face, John's pretty sure that visiting DC again will never be on the top of his list of things to do before he dies. Despite that, once he's set free, he can't seem to force himself to get on a plane back home. Instead, he stands in front of the departures board and wonders what would happen if he took a flight to some warm destination and never returned. After a moment, he chuckles at himself; despite everything he's done, he knows he'd never have the balls to pick up and disappear. That's not him. He likes his cramped apartment, even if it is overpriced. As for his job, they'll probably have to force him into retirement at some point. No way in hell would they ever promote him. And then there's Lucy; he definitely couldn't do that to her. 

With a final glance at the board, he turns and heads to the ticket counter. 

The line is really long and security is tight. He hates flying and considers just renting a car and driving back, but cars are probably still in short supply around here. Not to mention that his body could still use a break, even if he doesn't want to admit that to himself. 

During the wait, he goes over everything that's happened recently. Instead of flashing back to fights and explosions and car chases, he keeps coming back to that damn kid. Hell, he didn't even like the kid at first, but now, somehow he can't get Farrell off his mind. He frowns and shakes his head. Seconds later, an airport employee is gesturing for him to step up to the next counter. He goes through the routine of showing his ID and getting a ticket before heading toward the security checkpoint. Through the whole process, he thinks of the flaws that are still there in the system, and how, if they had this shit back in the day, maybe he wouldn't have had to fight a bunch of drug lords to save his wife. Not that it fucking mattered; she divorced him in the end anyway.

By the time he makes it to his gate and sits down in one of those uncomfortable chairs that makes waiting for your departure even more torturous than it already is, he's in a shitty mood. He keeps on glancing at the computer screen behind the departure desk and thinking that if the kid was here, he'd probably be babbling on about computer shit and John wouldn't understand a fucking word of it, but the look on the kid's face would be enough. 

That he's even thinking about the kid that way makes him rub a hand over his face. He's getting this feeling in his gut, this fluttering, like when he asked Gina Rubino out in junior high. That didn't go well and he's sure that pining over someone young enough to be his son, who has a thing for his daughter besides, isn't going to work out so well either. Pining, fuck. Isn't he way past that shit by now? 

He starts to close his eyes in the hopes that when he opens them, not only will it be time to board his flight, but all thoughts of the kid will have vanished into thin air. Instead, he snaps them back open as he feels someone hovering just to the right of his vision. He frowns and turns his head slowly, blinking when he recognizes who's standing there.

"Uh, hey."

The kid's got a hand on the back of his neck and he's looking in the vague direction of John's shoes. John knows that the appropriate response is something like "hey" or "good to see you" or "how you holding up?" but he can't seem to get any of those words out of his throat, so he just nods in acknowledgement. A good thirty seconds go by where they just kind of stare at each other. Finally, John sighs and gestures to the seat next to him.

"Sit down already."

"Yeah, okay." The kid shifts a few times. Probably trying to get comfortable with that bum knee, John thinks. "Listen, I just wanted to---"

John waves his hand dismissively. "I know. You don't have to."

A few blinks, a shake of his head. "No, no. I mean, yeah, but that's not what I was going to say."

"So say it." It comes out a little more gruffly than he means it to be.

The kid stares down at his shoes and the words come tumbling out of his mouth like water over Niagara Falls. 

"We're in an airport, so I'm hoping you won't punch me for this. But, well, I just can't stop thinking about us. I mean, you. I mean, shit, you probably think this is juvenile as all hell, but I like you." He finally looks up and meets John's eyes and his voice gets softer. "I like you. Not your daughter. You're the one I can't get out of my head no matter how hard I try and I don't know what to do with that."

There's real honesty and heartache and something else John can't put his finger on in the kid's words. Whatever it is, it makes the fluttering worse. He doesn't like this feeling; this feeling of being out of control of himself. It makes it even harder to find something to say in return. 

"Shit," the kid swears as his face falls. "I totally fucked this up, didn't I? You're not even going to want to talk to me after this. I never should've--"

Against his better judgment, John reaches over and rests a hand on the back of the kid's neck. He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

"You didn't fuck anything up."

"What?"

"I've been thinking a lot about… you too." 

The kid's eyes light up. "Really?"

"Yeah, but it's natural after what we went through together," John nearly mumbles. He tries to sound reassuring instead of condescending or unsure. By the look on the kid's face, it seems that unsure hit the jackpot.

"No, no." The kid shakes his head. "I felt it before the all the death-defying stuff. Well, I mean not all of it. There was my apartment. But after that."

John smirks a little and tries to escape this heart-to-heart by making a joke. "What, you get off on someone pushing you around and yelling at you all the time?"

The kid blushes a little. John realizes he still hasn't moved his hand. Instead of moving away, he inches his fingers up into the kid's hair and pulls a little. He expects the kid to shy away. Instead, he makes this soft sound and then bites his lip, like he's holding something back. John's about to move his hand away when the kid turns slightly in his seat and rests his palm on John's thigh. 

"Please let me come home with you."

There's raw need in the kid's voice that sends an involuntary shiver down John's spine. He removes his hand as the man behind the desk announces that they are now boarding rows ten through twenty. 

"Let me think about it."

He gets up without looking at the kid, afraid to see the expression on his face for fear he'll turn right back around and do something he'll probably regret, and hands his ticket in at the gate before heading onto the plane. Inside, he takes his seat in row 18, on the aisle. He tries to get comfortable in the small seat and not disturb the business man next to him, who is frantically punching buttons on his phone. The kid passes by him ten minutes later, biting his lip as he lingers in front of John for a second before moving toward the back of the plane. John closes his eyes and wills himself not to look back to see if the kid is still staring at him. 

When the plane finally lands at Newark, John is more than ready to get off the flying tin can and on with his life. He feels like an ass, but he doesn't wait at the gate for the kid; he just makes his way through the airport maze to the taxi stand. During the ride to his apartment, he thinks about Lucy, back at school now. He thinks about grabbing a slice from the deli down the street. He tries not to think of that sound the kid made, but it echoes in his head anyway.


End file.
